[ he sighs, shifting how he sits, and baskerville settles on the bed instead of his legs, tail thumping slowly on the mattress like he's trying to encourage them or something equally cute but ill-advised. he's trying. alucard watches him a moment before returning his attention to anderson. ]
Of course I'm upset about it. It's just easier to be angry with outside forces than it is to be angry with you. Though I am, to an extent, unable to fully excise the fact that I am, still, angry with you.
[ a shrug. but what's being asked of him is--he doesn't know what to say. he looks away, thinking, then when he looks across to him in the doorway he shakes his head helplessly. ]
It's not like anyone's ever tried to make anything up to me. I don't even know what to ask for. I do want things to be better, to make life easier again, but I don't know what will do that.
[Anderson doesn't look at Baskerville, his attention rapt on Alucard. Though he can see the dog in his peripheral vision, tail thumping away.]
I expected as much.
[Of course. It's not as though it would have been any easier for Anderson to shake off his anger had their positions been reversed. He probably would have taken it worse, in fact. Would have done a lot more yelling than quiet brooding.
He idles a little closer, reaching out to pat Baskerville's head, but his gaze doesn't drop from Alucard.]
Well, I don't think I'm quite up for being skinned alive, so you'll have to forgive me for giving that one a pass. [Something light- but he clears his throat after, since it's not an appropriate time.] Never? Nothing at all comes to mind?
[ it helps that alucard is rarely a man of explosive anger. he is energetic, and manic, and awful, but when his mood sours, it quiets. perhaps that's for the best, all things considered--none of their neighbors need them making any more scenes than they already did a few days ago.
baskerville leans into the attention, sitting up a bit to try and lick anderson's hand while he's at it.
the comment about being skinned alive actually makes alucard huff a laugh, tipping his head forward. it's not an appropriate time, but he's never been appropriate, so it's fine. ] I'll take a rain check on that one. [ then he sighs, dropping to rest on one elbow. ]
Before I was captured, people used to misstep and try to apologize or make amends, but I always just killed them, or worse, for wronging me. Which doesn't really suit, here. I'm not the best gauge for demanding reparations.
[ he's thoughtful, and then: ]
Offer me something. It doesn't have to be much, but it has to be genuine.
[He had thought there might have been at least a few occasions - but nor is he surprised by Alucard's answer. It makes sense. Count Dracula and Vlad the Impaler were both described as highly vengeful, and obviously Alucard's period of captivity wouldn't have facilitated opportunities for forgiveness and reparations.
He takes a moment to think, his hand slipping over Baskerville's snout. An answer doesn't immediately come to him, either. It's not as though he's had to make reparations for something like this before.
So he says what he knows:]
Penance.
[Considering Alucard's grin when he alluded to how he periodically pays penance, he's sure the man won't be opposed.]
[ it's laughable to think of abraham or arthur ever apologizing to him, much less offering reparations. and integra never did anything to him to merit it. no, all he has to go off of is his tyrrany, which isn't the best.
his gaze drops to where baskerville is soaking in the attention, and it makes him smile, just a little. it feels odd, to smile, after days of not doing so. but anderson's offer startles him enough that his attention flicks back up to him, searching his face for... something, he's not sure what. he sits up again too, head canting aside in the same way baskerville's does when he's listening for something.
then, slowly, he nods. ]
I think that's acceptable.
[ it will certainly give him something to focus on. after another long moment he shifts closer, studying him before gripping his chin in one hand. he doesn't kiss him, or touch him in any other way, but his eyes briefly narrow before he speaks. ]
If you ever put me in a grocery bag again for any reason, I'm going to kill you repeatedly until you stop coming back.
[There's something promising in the surprise, in the way Alucard searches him. This might, perhaps, be enough.
He makes a conscious effort to remain still when Alucard grips his chin. He, however, can't help snorting softly at the mention of the grocery bag; that wasn't even the worst thing he did that day. Clearly it was a point of displeasure for Alucard, though, so he says:]
That would be a waste of a perfectly good adversary. And a perfectly good grocery bag.
[He slides a hand into the folds of his cassock, tilting his head in Alucard's fingers. The implements he uses are always on hand. Not because he performs penance on a whim, in any old place (he's actually very particular about these details), but because he didn't want his roommate to see them one day and ask questions.]
[ at least the snort is some small amount of levity, because for whatever reason, alucard is dead serious about it. something about it struck him in just the right way, probably compounded with everything else, that just made it unbearable. undignified in a way even he wouldn't touch.
as anderson speaks, alucard's grip loosens, but doesn't leave. his touch smooths, briefly, along the line of the priest's jaw, before he finally drops his hand again.
[Stuffing severed heads into grocery bags isn't an everyday activity for him, even during his most savage of moods. It's hard to imagine a context under which he'd do it again.
In any case, he's in no hurry to humiliate Alucard like that again- and he knows it was highly humiliating, judging by Alucard's indignation at the time and his solemnity now.
His leans into Alucard's hand, briefly, when his fingers skate along his jaw.]
[ honestly, he would rather have been shoved into the cassock with all the bayonets. much better, in his aboslutely valid opinion.
that said, barring another outside force, alucard knows an trusts it won't happen again. that it did at all was a fluke. a horrible, humiliating fluke, but a fluke nonetheless.
he likes the way anderson leans into his hand but he doesn't touch him more just yet; he just sits back, hand dropping to baskerville's head to pet him as he considers the question.
it doesn't take him long to decide. ]
Both.
[ his voice is low, and perhaps surprisingly, almost fond. it might seem like a cruel answer in its own way, but it's not as though he'd have been offered the choice if he couldn't take it. ]
[Anderson is perfectly capable of withstanding both implements. He, indeed, wouldn't have offered otherwise. With a nod, he draws both floggers out of his cassock, one with thin, leather knotted thongs, and another with a steel handle and throngs with a denser thickness and metal throughout. He coils his hand around the end of each, giving them a stretch before offering the handles to Alucard.
They smell faintly of antiseptic, rather than flesh or blood. He's careful to clean them after use.]
I suppose we'll do it in here, unless you have a different preference.
[It's a little odd, to be doing this with help, but it ought to be easier than doing it on ones own. He glances around while he awaits Alucard's answer. There's a desk in here, which is convenient.]
[ for a moment he just sits. then he carefully, thoughtfully, takes off his gloves, flexing his fingers before he takes the offered handles. it's a small thing, but it's more personal without, at least in his opinion. slowly he unfurls, standing next to the bed and looking down at the dog. ]
Baskerville, out.
[ the dog lets out a low whine but behaves, trotting out of the room while giving them both a mournful look. he gives anderson a nod toward the door so he'll close it. ]
In here is fine.
[ he hasn't done anything like this in a long time, whether to himself or to someone else--all things said and done, even with his proclivities he's not the type to indulge in it whether sexually or not. his preference for violence during sexual encounters is feral, ripping, tearing, cutting, and his preference for violence non-sexually is 'all, as long as it's wild.'
so to be measured, a tool for penance, is... strange. unlike him, in any case, though he feels it suits their current situation. ]
[When Alucard removes his gloves, Anderson follows suit, peeling off his own and sliding them into a pocket. It would be silly to keep them on. It wouldn't be for Alucard, but- he gathers that this provides greater intimacy.
He closes the door with the toe of a boot before shrugging off his cassock, folding it neatly and placing it on the bedside table. It's followed by his clergy jacket, then his shirt, and finally his singlet, which are folded just as neatly and placed aside. The cross remains, of course, sitting flesh-warm on his sternum. He absentmindedly strokes the metal with a thumb as he returns to Alucard.]
There's no set number. Go for as long as you feel you need to.
[He stares at Alucard, and he's taken with the urge to touch him, strangely. Just touch him idly, unhurriedly, with their usual affection. But Alucard was insistent about not wanting to be touched by him when being kept captive, and it would probably be sensible to wait a little while before initiating anything.
He takes a step back and tilts his head toward the desk.]
I'll be saying some Hail Mary's, unless you want something else.
[ at home, he can't take off his gloves. is physically unable to. here it's--a gift, almost, to be able to touch the bare pads of his fingers to things. even if they're the grips of what are technically torture implements.
he takes a needless breath as he watches anderson prepare, canting his head aside--to see any expanse of skin is always a treat but it's different now, like this, and he still enjoys it but there's purpose to it, need.
when he speaks, his voice is low. ]
Say what you need. Don't let me dictate that.
[ even through everything, there's a certain edge of fondness in it. he nods toward the desk just afterward, waiting for the other man to get situated before he moves.
he stands behind the priest for a long moment, considering, moving close to run his knuckles along the length of his spine once before stepping back. since he's only going to use one at a time he sets first the metal one into the void inside him, which is just as clean as the cassock, thank you very much, and begins with the swift whip-crack of leather.
he doesn't say something, perhaps surprisingly, but he acts with the air of a man well-practiced in exactly this.
leather first, for pliancy, then metal to dig into the flesh properly, then leather again overtop. it will be interesting to see how it works on someone that heals so quickly, though.
he's not counting, and once he begins there's no hesitancy at all. this is beneficial to them both, after all. ]
[He plants his hands flat on the table, fingers spread, and hunches just a little. Enough to avoid having his head struck, though it's more force of habit than anything else; he isn't anticipating Alucard to make such a mistake. The man has impeccable aim with those guns of his and no doubt that'll extend to this as well.
A breath leaves him at the contact of Alucard's knuckles. It's a reminder of why they're doing this, why they need it. He turns his head to observe Alucard take position behind him, watching him in his peripheral vision, and only lets his gaze drop back to the surface of the desk at the first lift of the flogger.]
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum-
[It's testament to his fortitude that he doesn't make a sound when the leather cracks down. The afflicted skin steadily begins to heal, but there's a mark or two lagging behind by the time the flogger is applied again, and Alucard might be able to overcome the healing, with enough persistence.
Either way, the sting reverberates through Anderson's body for far long than any marks.]
Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.
[ to an extent, alucard wonders how much penance is actually required for causing harm to a vampire. surely that falls under some iscariot loophole. or something. far be it from him to question it though, when anderson is the first person to actively try to make reparations to him in over a century.
it means a lot to him, in a way he can't express. it's--about like when integra gave him his throne, when she gave him the autonomy to exist outside of his coffin even outside of missions.
importance.
he takes a breath he doesn't need to take as he watches, as he listens, and while he continues to not worry about count, every application of the flogger is measured and even, with overlapping application to indeed see if he can break past the healing threshold if he tries hard enough.
they're both men with incredible endurance and in a way he doesn't want the moment to end, though he's cognizant that's a selfish line of thought.
(who better to be selfish than dracula himself?)
still, he continues, not interrupting, only pausing when he wants to switch over, to see if there will be a different reaction to the chill and bite of metal against already-abused skin. ]
[It feels good, in a way. Cleansing. Stripping away a layer - mentally and physically - to render him shiny and new.
As Christ has undergone bodily suffering, you too should arm yourselves with the same conviction, that anyone who has undergone bodily suffering has broken with sin-
He needs this just as much as Alucard does. He wants it, so his prayer is steady and full of conviction. Even when his breathing becomes harsh and oppressive, he continues on, uttering each word one after the other and pausing between syllables where necessary. Sweat develops on the nape of his neck and it stings as it slides down his back and into the lingering welts.
It isn't until the metal bites into his skin that he lets out a sound. A low, short guttural sound that doesn't quite manage to end before the next strike. It's much easier to make these welts overlap: they dig deeper, stay longer. At some indeterminable point, his jaw falls open to accommodate harsh, whimpering breaths. This ones pain is much more difficult to take with his usual stoicism. He can feel blood gathering and sliding in slow rivulets down the length of his back, soaking into the black of his trousers. Which is a convenient colour for them to be, since blood can be damned hard to get out of fabrics.
Still, the prayer continues, a little more brittle than before but maintaining the same conviction. This is a good pain. For Alucard, for him, and for God.]
[ and so it continues. he knows anderson won't ask him to stop after he's offered this, but he's not so cruel (anymore) as to take advantage of that to an excess. still, it's satisfying: the sounds anderson eventually makes drag a shudder out of him between strikes, one he's glad the other man can't see.
he licks his lips when the blood trails and he should feel guilty for that but he doesn't; he just feels hungry, ravenous, wanting--but he refrains, and remembers, and eventually, eventually, he slows to a stop. he doesn't switch back to the leather, simply moves closer and gently, carefully, sets both floggers on the surface of the desk.
there's a brief moment of silence, of distance, before alucard's hand alights on anderson's shoulder, wanting to touch him but also carefully avoid the blood that's denied him--his lips brush the nape of his neck, just the once, but it's enough. ]
[His head droops when the strikes cease coming, his chin landing on his clavicle and the sweat beading at his hairline sliding down to his jaw. He takes several deep, needy breaths now that he doesn't have the shock of the blows to disrupt him. How many Hail Mary's was that? He can't remember. What he uttered was undoubtedly more than sufficient for penance, though.
He listens absently as Alucard approaches, his eyes drifting to the floggers as they're placed on the table. They're a little red, shiny. Going to need a thorough clean before Anderson puts them back in his cassock.
His thoughts are jarred from sanitary procedures when Alucard touches him. The chill soothes his heated skin and he makes a faint, appreciative sound and slants into his grip, his lips. Maybe he shouldn't press for more, but he feels a little threadbare and dazed after penance, particularly one of this intensity. He wants the proximity and the contact. He wants to feel more than just Alucard's lips.
When he speaks, the words are low and hoarse.]
You don't have to stop there. You can have- [A pause, and he finishes:] Me.
[The wording feels appropriate after he tried to take Alucard for himself, against his will.]
[ alucard soaks in the tiniest moments of affection like a desperate kind of sponge, and being allowed to touch so gently, especially after a penance like this, is enough to make him feel seen, wanted. which is what he wants: attention, good or bad, but good attention trumps bad always.
when anderson speaks he stills utterly, listening, contemplating how he should respond. anderson offered him many things when he was addled, when he was desperate, and alucard had staid his hand in the face of it, unwilling to breach the uneasy trust they share even in the face of--all of that.
but this is different, isn't it? he's clear of mind, they're here, and he's right--here.
his hands smooth down anderson's sides until they rest at his waist, not careful but fond, and his lips graze skin again, still where it's not been marred in the least. it's lower though, just a little--the scent of blood fills him and he lets out a low whine despite himself, soft and almost keening as he noses against the skin. ]
If--you're sure.
[ he's never been this measured, this well-behaved, this restrained. but his voice is soft, questioning, confirming. just in case he needs to clear his mind a little before. perhaps he's being too cautious, but he likes what they have in quiet moments too much to give it up now. ]
[One of his hands finds Alucard's fingers and folds over them, his palm hot and a little slick. There's nothing quite like a flogging to get ones blood pumping and body hot- and a little sensitive, if the longer contact managing to elicit a shudder is anything to go by. Every touch feels a little like it's rasping over raw nerves, but it's pleasant despite its overwhelming nature.
He has to pause at Alucard's whine. So wanting, yet he holds himself back to ensure he has Anderson's full consent. It prompts a swell of affection, surprising in its potency, and he laughs softly at himself, shaking his head. Feeling such things for his nemesis- what an absurdity, but he doesn't try to fight it back.
As Anderson speaks, his thumb brushes over Alucard's knuckles, affectionate. His voice is still hoarse, but moderately less so now that he's recovered some control over his laboured breathing.]
Call me a fool, but I want you to. [He swallows, licks his lips.] Just mind the teeth.
[They're not quite at the point of biting, yet. But this is still a significant submission, for a man like Anderson. To voluntarily feed a vampire opposes everything he is, everything he's been taught. It's printed on every cell- but Alucard's overlapping that with something else; he's not quite sure what, and despite having every reason not to be, he's willing.]
[ even though his participation wasn't in any way tactile to himself the grasp of anderson's hand very nearly makes him shiver--he's overwhelmed easily by small things like this, any granted touch that isn't abject punishment.
the laugh surprises him, but perhaps it shouldn't: it's just as absurd for him to be so held back, to carefully navigate this mine field in order to get permission where if they were fighting he could just rip out his throat with no remorse. things are... different like this, here in this place, and there's really no turning away from that.
at the comment, he smiles. ]
You're a fool, Alexander Anderson.
[ but there's a fondness here too, an idle sort of tease, like he's poking fun that anderson said it at all--they both know they're both fools for acting like this. and so: ]
So am I.
[ he doesn't bite. his teeth don't clip, or scrape, but he mouths over where blood has spilled, smearing it messily before his tongue darts out to lap it up between his shoulder blades. it burns and he lets out a rough groan against the skin, eager for both the taste and the pain as his grip at the priest's waist tightens somewhat.
he's waited so long, wanting, aching, that surely it can't be held against him that a little shudder wracks him as he runs his tongue slowly across each of the places he'd marked so briefly, like he can trace the marks that are no longer there. ]
[The worst of fools, these two. Enemies destined for the battlefield, for death, for hell- and yet here they are, indulging in the others company, exchanging intimacy. You don't get much more foolish than this.
His breaths go stuttering out when Alucard's lips slide over the spill of his blood, and the introduction of Alucard's cool, slick tongue elicits an even strong reaction, prompts him to shiver and hunch over, the muscles shifting in his back. The welts are long gone now, but there's still a lingering heat, a whisper of what was once there. His body remembers even if his flesh appears unmarred.
He can feel his blood burning and bubbling in Alucard's mouth. There would probably be steam rising up from heat-reddened skin if he turned to look. But Alucard's little groans and shudder clearly indicates that he's enjoying this feature of his blood. He's not surprised; it's exactly what he expected. Alucard's ever the masochist.
The fact this isn't a normal position for them to take doesn't escape Andeson's notice. When they're intimate, he's always facing Alucard, always able to touch as he pleases and kiss where he wants and take control, but he can't do that, right now, and there's a certain vulnerability to it. A vulnerability he doesn't mind, because he knows Alucard won't abuse it.
The hand he has curled over Alucard's guides it further around, over his hip and toward his abdomen. An encouragement for further contact, since that's what he can manage.]
[ is there any other way to put it but foolish? things are destined to end, one way or the other, but that doesn't mean what exists in the interim can't be good. perhaps it shouldn't be, but familiarity and obsession and need have fed into this, and it is what it is now: two fools doing foolish things together.
it burns when he swallows too, scalding his throat all the way down, and he revels in that too. it would heal instantly, of course, if he wasn't still so busily lapping up whatever blood he can get to. so the pain lingers, which he likes well enough, and when anderson guides his hand he allows it, hand pressing flat to his stomach and fingers spreading as the pads of them press down. hungry for blood as ever, but doubly so hungry for touch: his arm shifts of its own accord then as he urges his body close, arm fully coiling around him as he hunches forward to clean off more of his skin.
he's well aware of their positioning, and has no intention of abuse, no. all he intends is closeness, and want, and to make this moment linger as long as he can make it. he's also cognizant that he's still fully clothed, which is less of a hindrance than one would expect, but really it just means he's sort of thinking about that in context with their situation.
only when he's cleaned off every bit of skin he can easily reach like this does he straighten, mouthing once again over his nape as his tongue and mouth and throat heal over--there's a scrape of teeth but it promises affection, not a bite. ]
[There's a ravenous from both of them, in regard to touch. Anderson't pickier about it, high-maintenance; Alucard's the opposite, but it remains a quality that helps even out their numerous incongruities.
He encourages Alucard's hand further up when it coils around him, drawing it over his abdominal muscles and across the slope of his pectorals, close enough to his mouth so he can brush his lips over the pads of Alucard's fingers. He applies a light bite to them- and a much harder one when Alucard mouths over the nape of his neck, teeth scraping. It's not meant as a deterrent; it's simply in response to a shock of arousal, and he soothes his tongue over the bite marks after as way of reassuring him he didn't do anything Anderson didn't want. Quite the opposite, as evidenced by the swelling of his cock.
His free hand reaches behind and coils into whatever he can grab hold of, whatever clothes he can twist about his fingers, and he uses that grip to draw Alucard that little bit closer, close any remaining space between them. It would be nice if he could feel Alucard's skin, but he's not going to complain; he's enjoying the slide of his tongue and graze of his teeth well enough. He's dazed and shivering under just that.
The only sound between them is that produced by their contact between their bodies and Anderson's heavy breaths. Which are pleasant sounds, but Anderson decides to interrupt with a murmur:]
[ it's good that one of them is picky about it, since alucard is desperate for it to the point that he can't help himself. it's better like this though, in these situations, and he's coming to learn that he doesn't have to accept it from anywhere. which is progress, somehow.
the touch of lips to his fingers, the bites after--he shivers slightly, and by the time anderson pulls him in there's no space left to close: he's pressed flush against his back, urged as close as he possibly can, one hand lifting to coil fingers in his hair and tips his head aside so that he can press his lips to the side of his neck, beneath his ear, teeth barely catching his earlobe before he sucks with purpose at his pulse point, for a mark that will never linger but be satisfying nonetheless.
when anderson speaks he chuckles, dropping his chin to his shoulder and letting out a low hum. ]
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no subject
Of course I'm upset about it. It's just easier to be angry with outside forces than it is to be angry with you. Though I am, to an extent, unable to fully excise the fact that I am, still, angry with you.
[ a shrug. but what's being asked of him is--he doesn't know what to say. he looks away, thinking, then when he looks across to him in the doorway he shakes his head helplessly. ]
It's not like anyone's ever tried to make anything up to me. I don't even know what to ask for. I do want things to be better, to make life easier again, but I don't know what will do that.
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I expected as much.
[Of course. It's not as though it would have been any easier for Anderson to shake off his anger had their positions been reversed. He probably would have taken it worse, in fact. Would have done a lot more yelling than quiet brooding.
He idles a little closer, reaching out to pat Baskerville's head, but his gaze doesn't drop from Alucard.]
Well, I don't think I'm quite up for being skinned alive, so you'll have to forgive me for giving that one a pass. [Something light- but he clears his throat after, since it's not an appropriate time.] Never? Nothing at all comes to mind?
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baskerville leans into the attention, sitting up a bit to try and lick anderson's hand while he's at it.
the comment about being skinned alive actually makes alucard huff a laugh, tipping his head forward. it's not an appropriate time, but he's never been appropriate, so it's fine. ] I'll take a rain check on that one. [ then he sighs, dropping to rest on one elbow. ]
Before I was captured, people used to misstep and try to apologize or make amends, but I always just killed them, or worse, for wronging me. Which doesn't really suit, here. I'm not the best gauge for demanding reparations.
[ he's thoughtful, and then: ]
Offer me something. It doesn't have to be much, but it has to be genuine.
no subject
He takes a moment to think, his hand slipping over Baskerville's snout. An answer doesn't immediately come to him, either. It's not as though he's had to make reparations for something like this before.
So he says what he knows:]
Penance.
[Considering Alucard's grin when he alluded to how he periodically pays penance, he's sure the man won't be opposed.]
You can take part in- my performing it.
no subject
his gaze drops to where baskerville is soaking in the attention, and it makes him smile, just a little. it feels odd, to smile, after days of not doing so. but anderson's offer startles him enough that his attention flicks back up to him, searching his face for... something, he's not sure what. he sits up again too, head canting aside in the same way baskerville's does when he's listening for something.
then, slowly, he nods. ]
I think that's acceptable.
[ it will certainly give him something to focus on. after another long moment he shifts closer, studying him before gripping his chin in one hand. he doesn't kiss him, or touch him in any other way, but his eyes briefly narrow before he speaks. ]
If you ever put me in a grocery bag again for any reason, I'm going to kill you repeatedly until you stop coming back.
no subject
He makes a conscious effort to remain still when Alucard grips his chin. He, however, can't help snorting softly at the mention of the grocery bag; that wasn't even the worst thing he did that day. Clearly it was a point of displeasure for Alucard, though, so he says:]
That would be a waste of a perfectly good adversary. And a perfectly good grocery bag.
[He slides a hand into the folds of his cassock, tilting his head in Alucard's fingers. The implements he uses are always on hand. Not because he performs penance on a whim, in any old place (he's actually very particular about these details), but because he didn't want his roommate to see them one day and ask questions.]
I won't, Alucard.
no subject
as anderson speaks, alucard's grip loosens, but doesn't leave. his touch smooths, briefly, along the line of the priest's jaw, before he finally drops his hand again.
when he nods this time, it's resolute. ]
I believe you. I'll hold you to it.
no subject
[Stuffing severed heads into grocery bags isn't an everyday activity for him, even during his most savage of moods. It's hard to imagine a context under which he'd do it again.
In any case, he's in no hurry to humiliate Alucard like that again- and he knows it was highly humiliating, judging by Alucard's indignation at the time and his solemnity now.
His leans into Alucard's hand, briefly, when his fingers skate along his jaw.]
Metal, leather, or both?
no subject
that said, barring another outside force, alucard knows an trusts it won't happen again. that it did at all was a fluke. a horrible, humiliating fluke, but a fluke nonetheless.
he likes the way anderson leans into his hand but he doesn't touch him more just yet; he just sits back, hand dropping to baskerville's head to pet him as he considers the question.
it doesn't take him long to decide. ]
Both.
[ his voice is low, and perhaps surprisingly, almost fond. it might seem like a cruel answer in its own way, but it's not as though he'd have been offered the choice if he couldn't take it. ]
no subject
They smell faintly of antiseptic, rather than flesh or blood. He's careful to clean them after use.]
I suppose we'll do it in here, unless you have a different preference.
[It's a little odd, to be doing this with help, but it ought to be easier than doing it on ones own. He glances around while he awaits Alucard's answer. There's a desk in here, which is convenient.]
no subject
Baskerville, out.
[ the dog lets out a low whine but behaves, trotting out of the room while giving them both a mournful look. he gives anderson a nod toward the door so he'll close it. ]
In here is fine.
[ he hasn't done anything like this in a long time, whether to himself or to someone else--all things said and done, even with his proclivities he's not the type to indulge in it whether sexually or not. his preference for violence during sexual encounters is feral, ripping, tearing, cutting, and his preference for violence non-sexually is 'all, as long as it's wild.'
so to be measured, a tool for penance, is... strange. unlike him, in any case, though he feels it suits their current situation. ]
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He closes the door with the toe of a boot before shrugging off his cassock, folding it neatly and placing it on the bedside table. It's followed by his clergy jacket, then his shirt, and finally his singlet, which are folded just as neatly and placed aside. The cross remains, of course, sitting flesh-warm on his sternum. He absentmindedly strokes the metal with a thumb as he returns to Alucard.]
There's no set number. Go for as long as you feel you need to.
[He stares at Alucard, and he's taken with the urge to touch him, strangely. Just touch him idly, unhurriedly, with their usual affection. But Alucard was insistent about not wanting to be touched by him when being kept captive, and it would probably be sensible to wait a little while before initiating anything.
He takes a step back and tilts his head toward the desk.]
I'll be saying some Hail Mary's, unless you want something else.
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he takes a needless breath as he watches anderson prepare, canting his head aside--to see any expanse of skin is always a treat but it's different now, like this, and he still enjoys it but there's purpose to it, need.
when he speaks, his voice is low. ]
Say what you need. Don't let me dictate that.
[ even through everything, there's a certain edge of fondness in it. he nods toward the desk just afterward, waiting for the other man to get situated before he moves.
he stands behind the priest for a long moment, considering, moving close to run his knuckles along the length of his spine once before stepping back. since he's only going to use one at a time he sets first the metal one into the void inside him, which is just as clean as the cassock, thank you very much, and begins with the swift whip-crack of leather.
he doesn't say something, perhaps surprisingly, but he acts with the air of a man well-practiced in exactly this.
leather first, for pliancy, then metal to dig into the flesh properly, then leather again overtop. it will be interesting to see how it works on someone that heals so quickly, though.
he's not counting, and once he begins there's no hesitancy at all. this is beneficial to them both, after all. ]
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A breath leaves him at the contact of Alucard's knuckles. It's a reminder of why they're doing this, why they need it. He turns his head to observe Alucard take position behind him, watching him in his peripheral vision, and only lets his gaze drop back to the surface of the desk at the first lift of the flogger.]
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum-
[It's testament to his fortitude that he doesn't make a sound when the leather cracks down. The afflicted skin steadily begins to heal, but there's a mark or two lagging behind by the time the flogger is applied again, and Alucard might be able to overcome the healing, with enough persistence.
Either way, the sting reverberates through Anderson's body for far long than any marks.]
Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.
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it means a lot to him, in a way he can't express. it's--about like when integra gave him his throne, when she gave him the autonomy to exist outside of his coffin even outside of missions.
importance.
he takes a breath he doesn't need to take as he watches, as he listens, and while he continues to not worry about count, every application of the flogger is measured and even, with overlapping application to indeed see if he can break past the healing threshold if he tries hard enough.
they're both men with incredible endurance and in a way he doesn't want the moment to end, though he's cognizant that's a selfish line of thought.
(who better to be selfish than dracula himself?)
still, he continues, not interrupting, only pausing when he wants to switch over, to see if there will be a different reaction to the chill and bite of metal against already-abused skin. ]
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As Christ has undergone bodily suffering, you too should arm yourselves with the same conviction, that anyone who has undergone bodily suffering has broken with sin-
He needs this just as much as Alucard does. He wants it, so his prayer is steady and full of conviction. Even when his breathing becomes harsh and oppressive, he continues on, uttering each word one after the other and pausing between syllables where necessary. Sweat develops on the nape of his neck and it stings as it slides down his back and into the lingering welts.
It isn't until the metal bites into his skin that he lets out a sound. A low, short guttural sound that doesn't quite manage to end before the next strike. It's much easier to make these welts overlap: they dig deeper, stay longer. At some indeterminable point, his jaw falls open to accommodate harsh, whimpering breaths. This ones pain is much more difficult to take with his usual stoicism. He can feel blood gathering and sliding in slow rivulets down the length of his back, soaking into the black of his trousers. Which is a convenient colour for them to be, since blood can be damned hard to get out of fabrics.
Still, the prayer continues, a little more brittle than before but maintaining the same conviction. This is a good pain. For Alucard, for him, and for God.]
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he licks his lips when the blood trails and he should feel guilty for that but he doesn't; he just feels hungry, ravenous, wanting--but he refrains, and remembers, and eventually, eventually, he slows to a stop. he doesn't switch back to the leather, simply moves closer and gently, carefully, sets both floggers on the surface of the desk.
there's a brief moment of silence, of distance, before alucard's hand alights on anderson's shoulder, wanting to touch him but also carefully avoid the blood that's denied him--his lips brush the nape of his neck, just the once, but it's enough. ]
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He listens absently as Alucard approaches, his eyes drifting to the floggers as they're placed on the table. They're a little red, shiny. Going to need a thorough clean before Anderson puts them back in his cassock.
His thoughts are jarred from sanitary procedures when Alucard touches him. The chill soothes his heated skin and he makes a faint, appreciative sound and slants into his grip, his lips. Maybe he shouldn't press for more, but he feels a little threadbare and dazed after penance, particularly one of this intensity. He wants the proximity and the contact. He wants to feel more than just Alucard's lips.
When he speaks, the words are low and hoarse.]
You don't have to stop there. You can have- [A pause, and he finishes:] Me.
[The wording feels appropriate after he tried to take Alucard for himself, against his will.]
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when anderson speaks he stills utterly, listening, contemplating how he should respond. anderson offered him many things when he was addled, when he was desperate, and alucard had staid his hand in the face of it, unwilling to breach the uneasy trust they share even in the face of--all of that.
but this is different, isn't it? he's clear of mind, they're here, and he's right--here.
his hands smooth down anderson's sides until they rest at his waist, not careful but fond, and his lips graze skin again, still where it's not been marred in the least. it's lower though, just a little--the scent of blood fills him and he lets out a low whine despite himself, soft and almost keening as he noses against the skin. ]
If--you're sure.
[ he's never been this measured, this well-behaved, this restrained. but his voice is soft, questioning, confirming. just in case he needs to clear his mind a little before. perhaps he's being too cautious, but he likes what they have in quiet moments too much to give it up now. ]
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He has to pause at Alucard's whine. So wanting, yet he holds himself back to ensure he has Anderson's full consent. It prompts a swell of affection, surprising in its potency, and he laughs softly at himself, shaking his head. Feeling such things for his nemesis- what an absurdity, but he doesn't try to fight it back.
As Anderson speaks, his thumb brushes over Alucard's knuckles, affectionate. His voice is still hoarse, but moderately less so now that he's recovered some control over his laboured breathing.]
Call me a fool, but I want you to. [He swallows, licks his lips.] Just mind the teeth.
[They're not quite at the point of biting, yet. But this is still a significant submission, for a man like Anderson. To voluntarily feed a vampire opposes everything he is, everything he's been taught. It's printed on every cell- but Alucard's overlapping that with something else; he's not quite sure what, and despite having every reason not to be, he's willing.]
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the laugh surprises him, but perhaps it shouldn't: it's just as absurd for him to be so held back, to carefully navigate this mine field in order to get permission where if they were fighting he could just rip out his throat with no remorse. things are... different like this, here in this place, and there's really no turning away from that.
at the comment, he smiles. ]
You're a fool, Alexander Anderson.
[ but there's a fondness here too, an idle sort of tease, like he's poking fun that anderson said it at all--they both know they're both fools for acting like this. and so: ]
So am I.
[ he doesn't bite. his teeth don't clip, or scrape, but he mouths over where blood has spilled, smearing it messily before his tongue darts out to lap it up between his shoulder blades. it burns and he lets out a rough groan against the skin, eager for both the taste and the pain as his grip at the priest's waist tightens somewhat.
he's waited so long, wanting, aching, that surely it can't be held against him that a little shudder wracks him as he runs his tongue slowly across each of the places he'd marked so briefly, like he can trace the marks that are no longer there. ]
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His breaths go stuttering out when Alucard's lips slide over the spill of his blood, and the introduction of Alucard's cool, slick tongue elicits an even strong reaction, prompts him to shiver and hunch over, the muscles shifting in his back. The welts are long gone now, but there's still a lingering heat, a whisper of what was once there. His body remembers even if his flesh appears unmarred.
He can feel his blood burning and bubbling in Alucard's mouth. There would probably be steam rising up from heat-reddened skin if he turned to look. But Alucard's little groans and shudder clearly indicates that he's enjoying this feature of his blood. He's not surprised; it's exactly what he expected. Alucard's ever the masochist.
The fact this isn't a normal position for them to take doesn't escape Andeson's notice. When they're intimate, he's always facing Alucard, always able to touch as he pleases and kiss where he wants and take control, but he can't do that, right now, and there's a certain vulnerability to it. A vulnerability he doesn't mind, because he knows Alucard won't abuse it.
The hand he has curled over Alucard's guides it further around, over his hip and toward his abdomen. An encouragement for further contact, since that's what he can manage.]
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it burns when he swallows too, scalding his throat all the way down, and he revels in that too. it would heal instantly, of course, if he wasn't still so busily lapping up whatever blood he can get to. so the pain lingers, which he likes well enough, and when anderson guides his hand he allows it, hand pressing flat to his stomach and fingers spreading as the pads of them press down. hungry for blood as ever, but doubly so hungry for touch: his arm shifts of its own accord then as he urges his body close, arm fully coiling around him as he hunches forward to clean off more of his skin.
he's well aware of their positioning, and has no intention of abuse, no. all he intends is closeness, and want, and to make this moment linger as long as he can make it. he's also cognizant that he's still fully clothed, which is less of a hindrance than one would expect, but really it just means he's sort of thinking about that in context with their situation.
only when he's cleaned off every bit of skin he can easily reach like this does he straighten, mouthing once again over his nape as his tongue and mouth and throat heal over--there's a scrape of teeth but it promises affection, not a bite. ]
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He encourages Alucard's hand further up when it coils around him, drawing it over his abdominal muscles and across the slope of his pectorals, close enough to his mouth so he can brush his lips over the pads of Alucard's fingers. He applies a light bite to them- and a much harder one when Alucard mouths over the nape of his neck, teeth scraping. It's not meant as a deterrent; it's simply in response to a shock of arousal, and he soothes his tongue over the bite marks after as way of reassuring him he didn't do anything Anderson didn't want. Quite the opposite, as evidenced by the swelling of his cock.
His free hand reaches behind and coils into whatever he can grab hold of, whatever clothes he can twist about his fingers, and he uses that grip to draw Alucard that little bit closer, close any remaining space between them. It would be nice if he could feel Alucard's skin, but he's not going to complain; he's enjoying the slide of his tongue and graze of his teeth well enough. He's dazed and shivering under just that.
The only sound between them is that produced by their contact between their bodies and Anderson's heavy breaths. Which are pleasant sounds, but Anderson decides to interrupt with a murmur:]
'Spose this means my reparations were successful.
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the touch of lips to his fingers, the bites after--he shivers slightly, and by the time anderson pulls him in there's no space left to close: he's pressed flush against his back, urged as close as he possibly can, one hand lifting to coil fingers in his hair and tips his head aside so that he can press his lips to the side of his neck, beneath his ear, teeth barely catching his earlobe before he sucks with purpose at his pulse point, for a mark that will never linger but be satisfying nonetheless.
when anderson speaks he chuckles, dropping his chin to his shoulder and letting out a low hum. ]
I'd say so, yes.
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